


in just three minutes you were mine

by swanboulet



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Aftercare, As it should be, BDSM, First Time, Gore, M/M, Mild BDSM, Rough Sex, Sub!Connor, color system, doctors doing doctor things, dom!will, injuries, very brief canon-typical descriptions of hospital-related stuff:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:58:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanboulet/pseuds/swanboulet
Summary: This isn’t some ridiculous fifty-shades-esque scene. It’s just them, doing something that’s been a long time in the making, finally. (Or, the one where the back-and-forth becomes too much, they finally address that, and it turns out that they have more kinks in common than one would suspect)





	

**Author's Note:**

> God, this was written months ago so assume it takes place at some vague point during season one. 
> 
> !!! warnings for rough sex, some name-calling and other D/s kind of things. everything’s 1000% consensual tho, and they're both enjoying it profoundly. !!! 
> 
> (ahahaha, i’m back to writing medical drama fanfiction. i’ve been doing this for literally 10 years. @NBCChicagoMed hire me. i own nothing, if i were Dick Wolf i wouldn’t be writing fanfiction.
> 
> title's from blaqk audio's between breaths)

It begins over the bloodied body of an unconscious car crash victim. In twenty minutes, the situation has evolved into the kind of breathless, deafeningly loud chaos of a mass accident. Somehow, they end up quite literally wrists-deep into the abdomen of a man on the very edge between life and death, and all hell breaks loose.

It doesn’t matter why they argue, right there and then. What matters is, Connor is right and he insists that his course of treatment is _right,_ and then Halstead is glancing up at him, eyes wildly focused and face flushed behind his mask, and then he’s snapping at him,

“Step _back,_ Rhodes.”

And just for a moment, something in Connor short-circuits. His mind registers a command and he obeys on instinct before he has time to reconsider.

If Halstead wasn’t saving a life, if he wasn’t wearing a mask, he’d be smirking.

  
**

  
The fallout doesn’t come until hours later, when Connor has almost, _almost_ forgotten. It’s always somewhere between the fourteenth and the thirtieth hour of his shift when the lines begin to blur and everything becomes kind of timeless, and it doesn’t matter what the time is, or when he last ate, or slept, or happened to practice some medicine.

It is, technically, around eleven at night and he’s chugging overly sweet coffee in a side corridor when he hears footsteps and he looks up to find a fired-up Will Halstead striding over to him. It should be a chance to apologize, a convenient time to clear the air and make sure they can work around each other as usual. It takes him a second to come up with the right words, and in that same second, Halstead breaks the distance between them, grips his shoulder and shoves him back against the cool wall.

“What the fuck _._ ”

“Shut up, Rhodes,” Will’s voice is low and filled with determination, and it sends a chill down Connor’s spine which is anything but fear.

“What the _fuck--"_

“We need to talk about earlier.”

Of course. Connor shakes his head, fixing his eyes patiently on the freckled hand that’s still gripping his shoulder.

“This is not how I usually have work-related conversations,” he quips, the faintest hint of a challenge ringing through his tone.

Will scoffs before saying anything. It’s a low sound that’s equal parts amusement and threat and Connor has to focus all of his willpower into not letting it affect him as much as it does, anyway.

“This is not about work, though, Rhodes,” Will shrugs, painfully casual in contrast with the tension that’s taken over Connor’s body. His mind goes into overdrive at the suggestiveness and the weight of that statement, and he struggles to form an articulate response. Once again, Halstead carries on before he has the chance to attempt firing back. “It’s about you being a little fucking slut,”

(Connor flinches, just a little, though he doesn’t attempt to push him away.)

“I saw the way you react to orders, Rhodes,” Will carries on, voice dropping to a breathy whisper, still too frustratingly light. “Your eyes practically glazed over, you know? The _second_ you were asked to-- and you’re good at it, too, I was surprised, almost. Given how much you get on my fucking nerves arguing, I would’ve expected you to be brattier--”

Connor swallows, opens his mouth to argue.

“Hush. _I’m_ talking now,” Will says, the same sharp tone he’d used earlier in the ER. Connor sets his jaw, now reduced to a stubborn silence. Will laughs, actually laughs, and it echoes inappropriately loud down the hallway.

“See?” he hums, almost murmuring inches away from Connor’s ear now. “You can’t help it-- and I know for a fact you’re enjoying this, too.”

As means of emphasis, he drops his free hand, tracing his fingertips up Connor’s thigh. The soft cotton of his scrubs does little in the way of covering his semi-hard cock, and it makes Will chuckle as he leans in, lips grazing Connor’s neck when he continues talking,

“You want this so much, don’t you, Connor?”

(Connor flinches at the use of his name, and only then he lets himself melt into Will’s steady grip on his shoulder.)

“Must be so hard, being you, 24/7-- so many things in your control,” Will whispers, somehow sharp and sympathizing at once. “I bet you just want to let go, don’t you, doctor Rhodes?”

Connor manages a small hum in response, then tries not to whimper when Will pulls his hand away from his thigh.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want,” he says quietly, his voice returning to the light tone he uses in public. “I get off in an hour, and I’m going home. Ball’s in your court, Rhodes, you know where to find me.”

His head spinning at the promise of Will’s words, Connor nods, hoping to God that the hallway is dim enough to hide the flush that’s creeped up his neck and settled into his cheeks.

When Will looks at him and all but grins, he knows it doesn’t.

“Have a good night,” Will says, and then he’s gone down the hallway before Connor can find his voice to answer. 

**

Connor spends the last two hours of his shift power-napping, and then drinking another coffee as he runs through the hallway scene in his mind on repeat until details of it start feeling surreal, almost cinematic, like a wet dream he wouldn’t admit to having but hopes would recur.

For a while, he considers texting Will to consolidate the details of the offer that hangs in the air between them now, but it’s all quite clear: he could go over to Halstead’s apartment and accept everything he has to give, or he could go home and Will would accept that _no_ as an answer.

 _You just want to let go, don’t you, doctor Rhodes?_ Fuck.

Connor drives to Will’s apartment. Goes up to the fourth floor and rings the doorbell before he has time to change his mind.

When Will answers the door, he’s wearing soft sweatpants and a loose, worn black t-shirt. It’s not a vinyl bodysuit, or leather assless chaps or something equally outrageous, and somehow it grounds Connor: this isn’t some ridiculous fifty-shades-esque scene. It’s just them, doing something that’s been a long time in the making, finally.

“You came,” Will observes, in lieu of a hello.

“I did.”

“You’re sober?”

“I just left work,” Connor shrugs, huffing out a laugh. “I _drove_ here.”

Will stares at him for a moment, and Connor is terrified he might take it all back. Then, Will steps aside, motioning vaguely to the insides of his apartment.

“Come in.”

It’s not even a direct order, and yet Connor lets himself fall silent and simply follows him, which makes Will laugh, that low, promising laugh that had left Connor dazed and half-hard earlier.

“See? You’re getting it already,” Will says approvingly as he turns, walking over to him. “While you’re here, you do as you’re told, and if you’re good, this will be fun for both of us. Understood?”

Connor nods.

“The _second_ something’s off-- color system, alright?”

Connor nods.

“Rhodes.”

Connor looks up, catches his eyes gingerly, nods.

“Give me your color?”

“Green.”

It works like a traffic light. Connor rasps the color and it drives Will to sway forward, bodies crashing into each other as Will claims his lips, licking into his mouth long before they reach the nearest wall and he presses Connor against it.  
  
Connor goes to touch and, lightning-fast, Will grabs both of his wrists and pins them over his head, humming disapprovingly as he licks a hot stripe down the side of Connor’s neck.

Connor groans but allows himself to relax into the grip of Will’s cool, long fingers, quickly learning the rules of their game as they go. He feels Will smirk against his skin, and it’s enough to make his head spin. They’ve barely touched, it’s been seconds, and Connor’s already hazy and ready to give over to him and give, give, give just enough for both of them to be satisfied.

Will knows it. He feels it as Connor takes a breath and then leans his head back against the wall, offering his pale neck for the taking.

“God, you little slut,” Will whispers, scraping his teeth down his neck. Connor all but whines, the sound breaking into a moan as Will sinks his teeth in his hot skin, just hard enough to send a shiver through his body, all the way down to his dick.

Will tugs impatiently on Connor’s jacket and lets go of his wrists.

“ _Off._ ”

Connor’s hands shake, just slightly, as he unzips his jacket and pushes it off his shoulders, leaving him in a threadbare gray t-shirt. Will smirks and pulls on the neckline, leaving a string of rough kisses down to his collarbone as he bats Connor’s hands out of the way and moves to unzip his jeans himself.

Then, Will’s swift hand is in Connor’s boxers and he whimpers at the touch, shifting just a little, eager for more of it.

“Good, let me hear you,” Will groans, sucking another mark below his ear. Connor rolls his hips desperately as Will gives his cock a few rough strokes, causing him to pause, catching Connor’s eyes. “ _Don’t_ move.”

Connor lets out a sound of frustration, and it’s entirely the wrong move. Will pulls back, holding his hands up as he fixes his eyes on him. He doesn’t have to say anything, Connor knows instinctively that he is to stay where he is until a different order comes.

“Shirt off,” Will says quietly, almost too soft to be an order and all the more terrifying for it. Connor stretches as he pulls his shirt off and he is tempted to look away when Will takes him in, his hungry eyes moving steadily, with patient curiosity from his chest to his abs and down the line of sparse hair disappearing in his jeans.

“Actually-- just strip. Take it all off for me, slut.”

Connor is painfully hard in his jeans and he welcomes the order as a blessing, peeling the tight denim off his legs as fast as possible before following it with his boxers and socks.

Once done, he fights the urge to cover up his bare body and instead holds his arms loose at his sides, mind racing and cock twitching under Will’s quiet, careful inspection. It lasts a second the way seconds feel when you miss a step coming down the stairs: it’s endless and terrifying, and his stomach turns.

Finally, Will allows himself a wolfish smirk and nods.

“Follow me.”

Connor follows him to his bedroom, which is dark and bigger than he expected. He has a moment to take in the light blue cotton linens, and then he’s being pushed face down onto them, and it’s really not the time to be thinking about interior design.

"Come on,” Will says behind him, low and urgent as he gives his ass a light slap. “All fours, you know what I want.”

Of course Connor does. He swallows hard and keeps his head bowed as he shifts to get on his elbows and knees, toned ass up in the air like an offering.

“Beautiful,” Will hums, his voice too far away to be satisfying. He’s staying beside the bed somewhere, and Connor dares not to turn back and find out where. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

Connor shivers. That’s new, unexpected, and it makes his face flush and cock swell. Somehow, the compliment is harder to take than the degradation, and he knows Will knows that.

This is torture, the quiet, slow burn kind that leaves him shaking as he struggles to stay still and poised in that specific position where Will wants him.

Will leaves him there for a few minutes while he undresses, which Connor can only infer from the soft sound of cotton hitting the ground, and then the even quieter intake of breath that comes from the foot of the bed. The realization hits Connor like a rollercoaster drop: his mind is reeling and he has to actively fight back some sort of scream which threatens to escape his throat.

Will is jerking off behind him, to the sight of him and his quiet submission, and it’s all Connor can do to keep himself from coming then and there just at the thought of it. Instead, he whimpers and rolls his hips back, pushing his ass even higher up.

“Patience, slut,” Will snaps breathily. Connor smirks when he hears the strain in his voice, his calm composure completely gone now.

Biting his lip to keep quiet and hold back a laugh, Connor shifts again, resting his head down into the pillows. His posture is now, more than ever, an invitation: his body is fully available and there to be taken.

Behind him, Will swears, the profanity followed by a string of sounds: footsteps, a drawer opening, a plastic cap snapping open.

“Be good for me and don’t move now,” Will instructs as he works two lube-coated finger inside him, patient and slow and precise and entirely too much. Connor groans into the pillow and Will slows down immediately, leaning over his body to press a few open-mouthed, distracting kisses across his back.

"You know what’s good, pretty boy?” he whispers, sucking a mark between his shoulder blades. “ _No one_ would see those-- I get to mark you.”

The sound Connor lets out in response would be shameful in any other situation. He moans and his hips roll back, pressing against Will’s fingers. Will takes the cue immediately and resumes prepping him, still sucking marks across his pale back simultaneously. The pain and the stretch are different and overwhelming and yet they seem to cancel out, and Connor takes it all so readily, and it’s somehow not enough, and he needs more so intensely he chokes out the word unconsciously as Will bites down into his shoulder.

“What was that?”

“ _Fuck--_ Jesus. More,” Connor rasps, voice catching desperately in his throat. Will entertains him and obeys, stretching him just a little bit more.

Connor cries out, the sound muffled into the pillows as he shakes his head.

“No, no, more-- I’m ready, please, I--”

“Are you _begging,_ slut?” Will lets out a laugh, gripping Connor’s hip to ground him as Connor groans, shedding any last remnants of dignity as he nods quickly, his breath coming out in uneven, shaky exhales. “What do you want, then? Let me hear it.”

There’s a beat.

Then Connor drags in a sharp breath, and the plea comes incoherent and breathless, and his head spins as he begs,

“Your cock, please, I’m ready now, just fuck me, please, _Jesus Christ--_ ”

And he keeps going, dizzy and completely gone already, begs his way through the painfully long moments while Will rolls a condom on and positions himself behind him.

And then he thrusts in, careful but not slow, and Connor cries out, elbows nearly giving in beneath him.

“Color, Rhodes.”

Will stills and waits for an answer and it comes in a gasp, decorated with a colorful string of profanity and, “ _green._ ”

Again, it’s all he needs. He grips Connor’s hips and fucks into him, the pace growing merciless with Connor’s moans as a ceaseless underscoring.

The pads of Will’s fingertips dig bruises into Connor’s skin and the thought that the gorgeous man under him will be wearing his marks for weeks after he’s done with him serves as fuel to Will’s fire, driving him to thrust just a bit harder, just a bit faster, deeper until Connor all but screams, throwing his head back.

They lock eyes for the first time since they entered the bedroom. The sheer intensity of it is all but enough to make Will come on the spot, his head reeling with the knowledge that he’s the reason behind the deep red flush in Connor’s face, the light lines covering his forehead as he pushes him to his limits, the tiny spots of blood on the bottom lip he’s bitten raw in his vain attempts to be quiet.

“You beautiful, beautiful little slut,” Will groans, driving his cock harder into him, his own hips stuttering at the sight of Connor closing his eyes as he takes it with another loud moan.

“Fuck-- god damn it, please-- please touch me.”

Will doesn’t do anything new, just keeps the steady, relentless rhythm of his hips going.

“Jesus Christ, I’m so close, come on, please, please,” Connor whines, his eyes dark and needy as he stares back at him. “I wanna come, Jesus, please, _Will--_ ”

For some reason, that does it. Will reaches around and wraps his hand firmly around Connor’s leaking cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts.

“You’re cute when you beg,” he whispers. Connor just whines and pushes into his grip in response.

“I could leave you here,” Will carries on, low and threatening and full of promise. “I’ll come in your pretty, tight ass and then I’ll just-- say, _Don’t you fucking dare come on my sheets, Rhodes,_ and you wouldn’t, would you?”

Connor shakes his head, exhaling a sharp, helpless breath. Will laughs, and picks up his pace.

“--of course you wouldn’t. So maybe I should do that… I could watch you beg for _hours,_ you know.”

“Please, don’t,” Connor chokes out, ears ringing as he approaches the tipping point, dangerously close now. “I’m _so_ close, please--”

“Okay… not this time,” Will breathes, leaning in to bite at his neck. “Go on, then. Come for me now.”

His low voice in Connor’s ear is all the prompting he needs and he cries out and sinks down into the mattress, his arms finally giving in as he comes, hot and thick in Will’s hand and onto the baby blue cotton.

The sight of his coming apart, shaking and dazed and utterly gone is enough to bring Will to the edge and he gets himself off by thrusting harder, faster, fucking into Connor until he follows him over the edge in one final, deep stroke.

There’s a breathless silence in the aftermath as Will collapses down, wrapping his arms around Connor and rolling him to his side to avoid crushing him under his weight.

They stay like that, curled up in each other for a few minutes until sweat begin to cool down on skin and in the shivers that follow, they remember that Chicago in February isn’t meant for nudity.

Connor is the first to whimper and stir, and Will stills him with a long kiss to his shoulder.

“Stay here,” he whispers, and that’s not an order. Connor obeys anyway, and listens, half-asleep as Will gets off the bed, and walks around.

There’s vague noise and running water from the bathroom, and then Will’s return is announced in the form of a warm, damp towel pressing against Connor’s semen-stained stomach. He gasps at the unexpected sensation, and rolls over to his back.

“Let me do this,” Will whispers, gently moving the towel across Connor’s skin to clean him up. As Connor relaxes into the warmth, he sits up a little and glances down at his own body, smirking a little at the bruises that mark it now.

“I’ll be carrying those around for weeks, you know,” Connor observes quietly, a smirk making its way into his voice.

Will laughs, and shifts to put the towel aside before pulling him back down in his arms, Connor’s head resting comfortably against his chest.

“Oh, please, that?” he scoffs lightly, threading his hand through Connor’s dark hair. “I took it easy on you.”

Connor blinks up at him lazily, and lets his lips curl up, all amusement and challenge.

“Do better next time, then.”

Will stretches and pulls a heavy, warm blanket over them. He watches as Connor fights to keep his eyes open, then gives in and lets them close: dark, heavy lashes like staff lines against his pale cheeks.

Then he laughs, and tightens his grip, pulling Connor in.

“Maybe I will, doctor Rhodes. Maybe I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO as usual, i’m a non-native speaker and this is unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine and i ain’t apologizing for them. (also i really like commas.)


End file.
